ONE
by omgpink
Summary: A 6996 one-shot collection. "A man and a woman are one. A man and a woman and a blackbird are one." -Wallace Stevens
1. Cold Hands

**COLD HANDS.**

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* * *

**

Chrome's mittens are made of soft cashmere. She holds them preciously, as one would a small animal.

_My Chrome shouldn't let her hands get cold__._

She feels a little nudge in the back of her mind, Mukuro's presence, a tiny orb enveloped by her consciousness. When he thinks, he flexes like a squirming dove wrapped in her hands.

'Mukuro-sama, this was expensive.' Ken and Chikusa had tossed them to her when they returned with a couple shopping bags of winterwear.

_It is impolite to refuse a gift_.

'…If that is the custom,' she thinks back, blushing to herself.

_Kufufu~ My cute Chrome._ For she does not hide her shy pleasure.

Only now.

Now.

Here in this empty apartment. Here in this empty body. Chrome is no longer the lamp of a powerful genie. Her slim fingers pet an old, worn mitten. She sits alone in this freshly painted apartment, bare of furniture, with only a wheeling suitcase leaning on the wall next to her. Chrome's eye patch is simpler and her hair has grown out—she no longer resembles him. She wears no childish school uniform, her skirt replaced with an elegant pant-suit.

Chrome replays many crystal ball memories in her mind's eye. Very many.

But Chrome Dokuro, no matter how significant the event, does not think about the truck that slammed into her small frame. She does not think of the old pains. What choice had she?

It was out of her control.

She was powerless before it.

And now, she is less herself. Or all herself? She is precisely half of her previous being, but there is no exact line.

Chrome continues to stroke the small mitten, rubbing it in very small, slow circles. The white chaos outside is distracting her single eye. Snow has that effect, each flake dancing its individual performance before it clumps on the ground, blending into one being, one landscape. That snow-swept world was too large for her to admire. Chrome is a small girl and she only needs a small world. She creates her own enclave to rest, for rest is rare. Nowadays, Chrome roams like a gypsy, selling fortunes with old tarot cards passed down to her.

Two weeks ago, Chrome picked this place out, this high penthouse hideout, from a listing of hundreds.

Last week, she signed the contract with her homemade name.

And now, right now, the Vongola ring wraps around her finger.

It kindles her flame.

Chrome stumbles as she gets up and has to put a hand on the wall to stabilize herself. These vaulting sky-lighted ceilings, these cedar kitchen cabinets, these hardwood oak floors overwhelm her with all their air. She will never fill this space with anything. No furniture, no rugs, no appliances. She has no time. She has to work, to weave her mists for her boss.

Tracing the wall lightly with her nails, Chrome floats to the sliding glass door, attracted by the snowfall, but meets the eyes of a dangerous-calm man leaning against the railing.

Isn't she dangerous-calm herself? To face such a man and not shiver? She opens the door.

"Chrome," he says in slick Italian, "I will do this for you." The snow falls in heavy clumps and decorates her phantom's head and shoulders, white against black and blue.

White against the colors of bruises.

"You look tired. You always wear yourself out."

"Mukuro-sama." Her eyes rest on him.

"Are you cold? Where are your mittens?" he asks teasingly.

Her eyes do not shift to the right. She could never lie to him. Not him. Never him. No matter who she fooled, never him.

"I… I'm sorry." She remembers their softness. "They are gone."

"You are very strong, Chrome," he continues after studying her, and then, he smiles to himself. "That's how you're like me." Finger by finger, he pulls off his black leather gloves, and all smoothness, he reaches for her hand. She willingly meets him halfway, like she is catching a falling glass. Her two small hands wrap around his, one interlacing with his fingers, the other covering the outside. His hand is burning cold. So cold, it hurts. And then it doesn't hurt. She looks up.

Mukuro is checking the inside of her apartment over her shoulder.

"Are you alone?" he asks with soft thunder, the sound not aligning with his lips. He is already pulling her closer, away from the empty apartment and closer to where he stands on the balcony.

"Yes. Until I..." But she does not say it fast enough. His ears have already turned back into snowflakes. The snowman underneath has already deteriorated from her flames.

She has no power. Her illusions are imperfect.

Chrome remembers: His hands were always just as warm as hers.


	2. Collection

**COLLECTION.

* * *

**

Turpentine waves lap the lake's shore, in and out, in and out. It breathes in motion and sound. She can see a bank on the other side spread with the pale white of exposed sand. Where the soil darkens, evergreen trees grow, and above these living towers so small in the distance, the calcium moon sits on its throne. If Chrome tilts her head to the side, she would see it. Two eyes. One is clear, mottled with gray and yellow like marble. The other is reflected and distorted on the still water where the trees point down, buried almost. Symmetrical or parallel? Sound and water.

"Chrome, we are alike."

She is collecting pebbles, squatting near old branches pushed aside. Chrome has a little glass and she drops her stones into it. They remind her of berries in the way they roll and bounce. Sometimes, she finds a special one of pink sandstone and she tilts it this way and that to see every rugged, rosy angle. Her eye squints.

"Everything is real if you think hard enough."

They are just rocks. They talk to each other. They agree. Chrome eavesdrops, but she doesn't quite know the language. She doesn't want to interrupt them, and so Chrome doesn't look away immediately when the wind starts blowing, knocking the trees together. She tucks her arms into her stomach, cupping her palms over her elbows. The trees are bending, so flexible, and she wonders if they are really alive or just husks.

"But I have never made these things easy."

She steps into the water. The pebbles are sharper. The wind blows and breathes and doesn't listen. She makes little splashes as the water comes up to her knees, knocking distortions into it with her own physical movement. But the ripples on the lake look different at the spot where the wind blows. That is the spot where a boat would catch the breeze, but there are no boats. A lake is inland water. Hidden water. It smells of leaves.

"You need to be fluent, Chrome." His words are a collection of Italian and magic. "Is something the matter?"

_Slowly, please, _and her thoughts are jumbled into _please, slowly_. The lake freezes and she stands on it. A big fish swims underneath her, fins back and forth.

"So I see. All right," he says stretching out, making himself more comfortable and open. "Repeat after me." She is listening. The pebbles are strewn before her.


	3. Forget Me Not

**FORGET-ME-NOT.  
**_An Alternative Universe One-shot_

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Plot Bunny belongs to Poisoned Memoir.  
Words belong to me.  
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* * *

Chrome didn't want to move away from the capitol's pigeon-cluttered streets, from these cobblestones drenched in dirty feathers and acid rain. In fact, she admired the plump bird hobbling in front of her. The gray bird was too lazy to fly away, walking over a puddle and away from her. Chromes eyes noticed that its feathers shined metallic magenta and green like oil on pavement, an old beauty.

How could she move away?

The city was full of noise and bustle. She could just fade into her mother's side while the woman conversed with the flower shop owner. Town houses rose up around her like a canyon of bricks, cut away by a river of horse-drawn carriages. Everything happened in the city, stories pounded out of newspapers and movie theatres. Chrome imagined the countryside as eternally silent, dead of noise. She didn't see any space to fade and let the world wash over her. No, the silence would color her in and she would be forced to step forth and fill up the empty room with her own story. Only walls would listen and contain it. Her voice would bounce off them, and that would be all she heard. Her own voice, and then, an echo of it, which she wasn't quite ready for. The city had a nice way of holding her mind's attention. Tall buildings and street performers captured her eyes.

During dinner, Chrome's mother and father told her about their decision to move to the countryside. Her father was cutting a mound of roast beef and her mother was shoveling a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto her daughter's plate. Her mother planned to help her sister in the dress shop near the Town Common and was positively thrilled to be returning to her childhood home. Her congenial lipswere that of a pleased cat. Meanwhile, her father had gotten a new job accounting for a glue factory, by pure luck, only one town over. As the adults spoke, Chrome picked at her peas.

"I shall call the drivers tomorrow. We will meet your brother at the train station. Cook make some biscuits for him. How does that sound?" Her mother said.

"Excellent. I think everything will go smoothly for this trip. I've grown tired of this city." Chrome watched her father sigh as he cut a beefy steak.

"I think the air will be good for the baby." Her mother said, rubbing her stomach, though she wasn't showing yet. "So the doctor's say."

"Yes, so they say, but everything about the country is good for a child," her father said and with this remark, he glanced at his daughter.

"May I be excused?" Chrome asked, putting her fork down with a clink on her plate.

"Of course," her mother said quickly. "Now dear, my sister says her dress shop is next to a wonderful antique store, but that the business is going down the drain! It seems too many people want to sell their old silverware, furniture, books, and looking-glasses, while not enough people want to buy them. It will be quite a challenge to fix up!"

* * *

The stars spread across the sky like a handful of gravel tossed into dark water. Their soft eyes met Chrome's as she looked out the train window. Chrome was dressed in a white lace travel dress and precious matching hat, which made her like a miniature version of her mother. As the train clunked on the steel rails, Chrome watched the trees whip by and the sky remain still. She was familiar with the constellations as she had learned them at school. But these trees and this dark forest that surrounded the rails, they were something else entirely, something powerful and unknown to her. For even in the city, when she was lost, there was always a kindly woman about to ask for directions or a bus route map to read. All the alleyways were distinct, whether webbed with laundry, clogged with crates, hazed in gutter smoke, and all permeated by the music of traffic. But these trees were quiet as the train moved by them and deceptively all looked the same. Their branches reached toward the railway. Sometimes, they hit the windows with a grating thwack, but it was never loud enough to awaken her parents.

* * *

It was near midnight when the family arrived at the new home, a rustic Victorian villa three stories high. The house was once the main building of an old sheep farm. A stone fence bound the turn from the road. The drive way was long and a road in itself, as the house was set deep within a meadow. In the night, Chrome could barely keep her eyes open. The cook led her out of the carriage, up the front steps and into the first empty hall.

"Go upstairs and pick a room, Chrome-chan. I'll come up and set your bed and we can unpack in the morning, sound nice?" Then the cook left the young girl to assist the mistress.

The house was dark, but a little light shone in from the windows from the moon. The air was musty with the perfume of wool and firewood. Chrome could make out a staircase and a large room off to her side with a hearth of cobbled stone, just like her old city's streets. She could see many details in the wood carved panels going up the stairs and decorations on the door-frames of all kinds of meadow flowers. She could see a lot in this darkness compared to her mother and father, who would soon come with a lamp. Chrome always had good eyes. Her mother once said that when she was a smaller child, she was all eyes.

Chrome went up the stairs from where she was left in the atrium. The banister was of polished wood, but she wasn't tall enough to trail her fingers on it for balance. Instead, she gripped the thin columns supporting the rail like an old man's walking stick. At the next floor, she came to a hallway that branched off into several rooms. At the very end, a ladder made of planks of wood, knitted together with coarse rope, hung from a hole in the ceiling. Chrome walked under it and looked up.

"Like a fire escape," she said under her breath. She was interrupted by a quiet patting noise, like mice scampering across fabric. She stood hushed looking up until the cook discovered her.

* * *

The next morning, Chrome found a square hatch covering the way into the attic. The rope ladder was gone. She looked up at it but the cook was soon pushing her away. Breakfast was downstairs and the entire family was in a rush. Today was Sunday. The family was going to church this morning to introduce themselves to the townsfolk. Her father wore his best suit and cravat, looking like the men in the paper bills he counted. He waited by the front door for Chrome to finish her eggs and for his wife to finally decide upon her dress. The cook talked to Chrome while she ate.

"I hear there aren't not many little girls in this town, Miss. My brother worked maybe three towns over, not even, he met boys from these parts. Now I don't know what's up with the way of the folk here, but I think you'll be mighty popular. You'll have lots of young handsome lads nipping at your heels, I just know it. They almost run wild round these woods!" The cook finally turned around from the potatoes she was peeling and chopping. "Now Miss! What's that look on your face? Did you not sleep well?"

"Oh," Chrome said suddenly. She stopped looking out the window and sat up straighter. "Sorry!" she continued with determination. The cook crossed her arms and laughed.

"I expected you would want time by yourself, no need to be tossed into that rabble of children so quick. I'm sure you'll make friends though," the cook continued, turning back around. "You should follow your parents now. And remember your manners." And quite suddenly, Chrome's father came inside, opened a high cupboard, withdrew two cigars and tucked them into the lining of his jacket. Then he turned around and gave his daughter a pickled face.

"Chrome-chan, off to your Mum now." He said. "We're nearly late!"

* * *

The church was of stone masonry. Old scarlet tapestries hung about the apse and between the large windows set high on the sides of the nave. Chrome walked between her mother and father and the family found seats near the back. There weren't too many children. Most of the people were working men and a few dainty women, all thin and neat. A group of naughty boys sat, kicking their legs in the front row of benches and were watched like prisoners by two generations of older men. On the pulpit, the pastor talked long and dry. He hit his fist on the podium several times, which made Chrome stop daydreaming about the attic and the way it seemed another world separate from the house.

"And finally," the pastor announced, his voice, at last, more peaceful "we must welcome a new family into our community. This may be a small town, but we always have room for more!" He sounded a true Sheppard of God. The Congregation stood up at his departing hand-gesture, a generous wave. Chrome remained seated but her mother immediately made her way down to the aisle to talk with the townsfolk filing out. She had already removed a handkerchief, which she used to elaborate her gestures. Her father shuffled past Chrome, ignoring her and joining his wife. Finally, Chrome crept away from the her seat, steering herself to her mother's leg. From there, she watched the boys leave the front row, running outside to play in the yard.

"Hi, Mama told me you're new to town. What's your name?" a girl said, who had come up from behind the shy child. The little girl had a pretty white dress and a clean, happy face.

"I'm Chrome," she said softly, putting out her hand to the brunette her age, but still stuck to her mother's side, holding onto a fist-full of her mother's dress.

"Call me Kyoko-chan. It's very nice to meet you."

Chrome had to match her manners.

"It's very nice to meet you too!" she said quickly, trying to make up for not being the first to say the words. Suddenly, a wall of boy almost collided with Kyoko, who side stepped the riot as if she had much practice in this maneuver. The hair and bandages and red smiles landed in a pile next to her and Kyoko looked down curiously. Chrome put her hands to her mouth.

"Sorry Kyoko-chan!"

"SIS!"

"Get off me lawn-head!"

"Haha! Maybe we should play rugby outside."

The boys hustled out, one red-faced looking over his shoulder. The others pretty much could care less about the girls.

* * *

Chrome's family were invited to sup with the pastor, who happened to be Kyoko's father. Chrome was polite and remembered her manners perfectly, always saying 'please' and 'thank you' and never interrupting the adult conversations. Even when Kyoko whispered about doll dresses her friend had sewn, Chrome managed to purse her lips and not speak a word.

At home, her parents sent her right to bed. The couple settled down for a quiet evening in front of the hearth, their parlor furniture set up while they were out. Upstairs, the cook tucked Chrome in, and then, told her a story. The good cook dimmed the light of the oil lamp and cleared her throat.

"Once, there was a little girl just about your age. She looked very much like you, too. Maybe she wasn't as skinny but she was just as pretty in the face. She had beautiful blue hair, so beautiful that everyone who met her either loved her or was jealous, and some felt both and were terribly confused. Her hair was talked of by many and she became quite famous, though not so much as an actress or a dancer for it was only hair. It was long and cascaded all the way down to her waist and she took very good care of it." Then the cook added, "not that short hair isn't pretty, sweetie." She smoothed Chromes hair. "Anyway, her hair was beautifully blue, blue as the ocean reflecting the sky reflecting the ocean once more, this deep dark color that wasn't exactly black. It was almost illusive. Perhaps, it shined blue. Well, one day, the girl's birthday to be exact, she was opening the presents her friends and family had given her. There was an enormous pile, enough to fill this room, and there were many beautiful gifts among them, combs and hairpins of emerald and mother-of-pearl. That antique store down the road would have nothing to compare to her treasures."

"But there was one gift, wrapped in brown paper, without any card of well-wishing, that was something far more valuable than anything ever bestowed upon this girl. Someone, it was not known whom, but someone brought her a full-length, standing mirror. It must have cost an hundred pounds! It was carved in such detail and the frame was laced with all kinds of fairytale critters. It was such enchanting an enchanting piece, especially for such a little girl."

"And it became this particular girl's favorite treasure. She looked into it many times and her parents would say she spent the evenings in her room just looking into the mirror. Some said she acted so because she admired the craftsmanship but others were cruel and called the girl vain. Still, she seemed very pleased with the mirror, not so much with the reflection in it. She wanted to thank the giver, but there was no name upon the gift. She asked her parents and she asked her friends, but no one knew who had left it among her presents."

"This is all very odd and queer, I know, but it gets more so. Not a week after her birthday, a great mist enveloped the town. It slunk in from the mountains just north and flooded the small farms and shops so that you couldn't see your nose in front of your face. Even indoors, it crept and people huddle by their firesides where it was a bit clear. Some people called it witchcraft, but whatever it was, after the mists came, the girl with the beautiful blue hair suddenly didn't want her mirror and she chopped off her blue hair and changed its color. The day the mist came, she had spent her entire day alone in her room with the gift and she never explained her sudden change of heart. And she doesn't quite know what happened to that mirror, too!" The cook puts a finger to her chin, thinking.

"Is that true? You say it like it's true."

"Oh Dear! Well," her cook sounded like she was caught in the act of mischief, and she waved her hand chuckling and embarrassed "It's only as true as what I've heard. My brother married that girl," the cook laughed. "He sure married up! Smart little rascal! But I do get a lot of my stories from what I hear around the city, and I changed this one around."

"Didn't her hair grow back then, if this is real life?" Chrome's bright eyes caught the lamplight. She looked too awake to the cook. "It would grow back just the same, wouldn't it?"

"It probably did. Her hair is a lovely black, though, not blue. But Chrome, Chrome!" the cook said, drowsy, "you mustn't take these stories seriously. It is just a little tale sisters-in-law joke about, not real life. Most definitely not real-life. No, we most certainly not be thinking of strange mirrors and mysterious mists when there are handsome, strapping boys running around town. Now you must sleep, sleep, darling. That is enough nonsense for tonight."

* * *

Chrome drifted into an uneasy sleep and sometime in the middle of the night, she woke up thirsty. For a while, she just laid in bed and thought of the new house and if she could she trust Kyoko as much as she trusted the cook. She wanted too, but she was a city girl. She could be polite and soft-spoken, but she couldn't dump her trust in anyone in a hurry.

Rolling out of bed, she made her way to the door and into the hallway and was taken by surprise to find the rope ladder to the attic hanging down right in front of her bedroom door and the attic door tossed open into the darkness. A wind rushed out from her room and gently lifted the skirts of her nightie. Then the wind faded. Chrome had thought of this niche in the house all during church. But now, here it was, staring her in the face with its black hole and she was reminded of the uncertainty the forest gave her. This house was made of that wood of uncertainty.

'The wind must have knocked the ladder down and the attic will be sealed up in the morning' she thought. She might never have the chance to explore. She tested the rope ladder, and it felt safe and secure. She climbed it and pulled herself into the dark room above, expecting to find a lamp on the ceiling. She blindly reached, but soon found she had enough light to see, provided by the stars and moon outside large mansard windows. There were many large objects covered with gray dust clothes. She was in the mansard roof of the old house and it was a very large room with much space, although very eerie and filled with ancient shadows. Chrome picked her way through piles of books and chests. A piano rested on the floor without any legs. Its cloth had been blown off. There was furniture too. Old wooden chairs with fancy backings and small tables with flowers carved into the edges. Chrome picked her way through, aiming herself for the sloping mansard wall, a spot near a window, so she could see the clutter. She tripped on a coil of rope, but finally, she reached the spot and took a look around.

In the corner above her room, near one of the windows, a tall object was draped in a grey cloth that ghosted the rough wooden floor. It attracted her attention very readily because the dust cloth looked more silken and glossy than the other covers. Carefully, she picked her way over and reached up and pulled the fabric off. Underneath was a mirror. A large, free-standing mirror.

Chrome gazed into it and it reflected her small form in her nightie and the attic behind her and a bit of the window as it was facing outward and looking out upon the driveway. Everything in the attic seemed to be either black or white with all the cotton covers and dark wood, but Chrome had good eyes and she could see the details. When she put her head close enough, she could make out the designs wrought around the frame. Flowers bloomed and their vines intertwined and twisted in a border. Bright birds of all kinds and colors peeked from leaves or walked on the ground. She looked closer and she saw a tiny fairy curled up in a Forget-Me-Not, sleeping. And since she found one, she began to make out all the fairies, dragonflies and ladybugs. They were hidden and yet obvious in the way the clung to forms, blending in and yet, from afar, could easily be mistaken for a flower.

And perhaps it was this new keenness of sight Chrome developed that she began to see something very similar in her own reflection. She saw a hidden face of sorts in her own face and she looked closer and leaned into the look-glass. She could barely see it as it overlapped with her own and hid in it like smoke, but there it was all the same. It was the face of a boy and the edges of his face were just a bit larger than her own, and this, she was able to pick out in the moonlight, but otherwise, they seemed twin.

"I can't see it," Chrome said in her little voice. Suddenly, the face broke away from hers. It took her breath and she stepped back and would have dripped backwards on a dusty pile of books and made such a noise, but she caught the side of the window. A body appeared below the face dressed in a white nightie like her own, but it now hovered high.

"A little girl?" said the boy. But Chrome had already started picking her way more clumsily and hurriedly back to the attic hatch and barely heard the his next words as she cried in fright. Before she could see or hear more, she jumped halfway down the ladder, scrabbled into her room, and shut her door.

* * *

At her first day of school, Chrome was convinced it was all a dream. It sounded so ridiculous. A face in a mirror? How could she put her faith into such a vision? Still, she sat through class with her head in her hands as she was not the kind of girl to push dreams aside. The more she thought about the face, the more she regretted her flight and she more than ever now wanted to meet it boldly. How could she be so scared of her own face? If there was anything she trusted in heaven and earth, it ought to be herself. Meanwhile, Kyoko passed a note to Chrome during class, but the short-haired girl merely slid it into her pocket and would not read it until recess. By that time, Kyoko told Chrome herself what she had written.

"My birthday party is this Friday and I want you to come!" the pastor's daughter announced. "My mom is baking a huge, delicious cake and only the nicest people are invited. My mom said your mom thinks it's a wonderful idea for a party, so you're all set to come." Kyoko had the most wonderful smile on her face and Chrome wondered how she could refuse. She didn't like such parties, but her mother had already accepted for her.

* * *

It wasn't until a couple hours before Kyoko's party that Chrome dared to go up into the attic again. She was going to ask the cook if she could wear a dress that didn't match her mother's when she was once again confronted by the haunting rope ladder and the rustling of gray sheets. She was at first filled with dread—it was no dream—there truly was a mirror up there that played tricks. But she had persuaded herself that the face was her own and maybe, the mirror was magic in the way that it had played with light. She had heard of such funhouse mirrors from the cook. The idea made her curious. She would like to spend time with a warped image of herself, stick her tongue out maybe. She would have to be quick.

Determined and unafraid, she climbed the ladder once more and moved to the mirror. The grey sheet had been replaced and she pulled it back fully expecting the see the other, hidden face float smoky over the frame of her own. But there it was, clear, elevated above and its eyes locked into hers. Chrome couldn't move. She wanted to replace the cloth, but all she could do was meet the reflection of the boy. It was definitely a boy. It wasn't her.

"So we meet. What is your name, little girl?" The voice had a metallic echo and sounded much older than a normal little boy's voice would. Chrome stuttered a little bit before she could reply coherently.

"Ch-chrome-chan. May I ask yours?" she answered.

"You may call me Mukuro, though I've many names."

"Oh…." Chrome's theory was lost. They had different names.

"Mukuro?" She looked up at him in awe. "M-may I ask, why you look so much like me?"

"You mean to say 'why do I look so much like you, Mukuro?' Ah, I believe it to be a mystery even to me." His disembodied head bobbed down to her height and studied her as if she was his own reflection. Chrome blushed.

"Do not be so nervous, it is nothing but my own vanity that I look upon you." He smirked. "Seeing you makes me very curious. You could be my reflection if you weren't a girl. It is better you are not me though. Two of me would be quite unbearable."

"To be a boy in the mirror?"

"Is that what this cage is? I've never looked in a mirror from where I am now," he chuckled. "Is it a nice mirror? I imagine it to look very feminine."

"It is carved with fairies and flowers, and very pretty birds," Chrome informed helpfully. "I think it's a very, very nice mirror. I can't see a lot of the details because it's so dark, but I'm sure there are other animals on it too."

"You can't see clearly? How about now?" Suddenly, a light peeked over the horizon and cast orange light into the attic. Chrome looked out the window to face the rising sun.

"What? It's morning!"

"Look! Tell me what you see. This is important." Chrome's attention returned to the mirror and she nodded.

"Well, there are bugs too, all kinds. I see vines climbing up the sides."

"Do you see any symbols? Any words or signatures?"

Chrome looked for a long time. "My eyes must not be good enough."

"Your eyes are very fine, Chrome, if they have seen what you have already spoken of."

Chrome said 'thank you' gently.

"What about the back? There might be something on the back."

"Okay," she said and shuffled around the mirror's stand. And there it was, a symbol etched into the wood. It was sloppily carved compared to the craftsmanship of the rest of the frame. It might have been marked in a hurry.

"I see a spade, like on a deck of cards. It's scratched in to where the looking-glass is fixed." The mirror remained silent. "Mukuro?" Chrome walked back around to the front, but the boy's face had disappeared. Chrome looked out the window regretfully. Her hair was still crimped neatly and held together by a big bow, matching her party dress. Outside, the sun was definitely rising and it had only been 5 o'clock when she climbed up the rope ladder.

* * *

"Where on earth did you run off to?" the cook cried. "I've been searching all over the house for you! And I thought 'Could she have run off into the forest?' Your father's out looking for you but here you are, all set for Miss Kyoko's party as if you were here all along. Oh, my good heart! I thought something terrible had happened. These old houses can fool you with many a secret door, I bet." The cooked hugged Chrome. "But my, my, Miss, what am I going to do with you? The mistress is in an awful mood since you evaded that party."

"I'm sorry," Chrome said, hugging the cook back. "I fell asleep. I was in the attic." And she would have continued to tell the cook about the mirror when her mother swept into the kitchen, still dressed for the evening before, and heaved a great sigh at the sight of her daughter.

"These adventures could be the death of me! Chrome! Where did you make off to? It's terrible! Everyone at the party was worried on your behalf, a little girl gone missing, you must be more responsible with yourself!"

Chrome backed into the cook. She looked at the floor, ashamed of her mother's disapproval.

"Easy there mistress. Let me make you a cup of tea!" the cook pleaded and then she hustled to the stove. "Perhaps Miss Chrome simply didn't want to go to the party."

"Nonsense! What more is there for a little girl to love than parties and pretty dresses and a boy to cast her eyes upon? It's all so romantic in this country town." Chrome slipped upstairs to her room.

* * *

Chrome went to school every day as any good schoolgirl should, but she always kept a distant far-off look in her eye. The cook thought she missed home, so she packed many goodies to share at lunch with the other girls in the classroom. Still, Chrome always came home with the extra treats uneaten. Cook was worried, stirring her soup with her hand on her hip. She decided to ask the schoolteacher about the situation. However, the schoolteacher, a lovely single woman by the name of Bianchi, wasn't worried about Chrome's silence.

"Some children are introverts. It can't be helped," she shrugged to the worried cook. "Help me take this brat inside," and she nodded at a scowling boy with locked legs. She dragged him behind her. "I will have my vengeance when I meet with his father on Friday!"

So Chrome, watched over by the cook, was not forced to make friends with Kyoko or Haru, the other two girls her age. She played alone and walked the long road home alone. The cook stopped worrying about the girl as she was very keen on keeping herself busy without company. She often smiled as if she were holding a conversation in her mind and a very clever remark had been made. Chrome often went outside to go for long walks in the pastures and she collected bouquets of clover thistles, the only flower growing this time of year. The first bouquet Chrome gave to the cook was thrown out after a couple of days, as the plants had wilted and the small purple petals had turned an ugly brown. When Chrome noticed their disappearance from above the hearth, she asked of their fate. How serious a little girl could sound! When Chrome heard the news, she gasped.

"But there were fairies in the flowers! That's where fairies live."

She wasn't angry or upset at the cook. She was just very sad, as if the fairies had died from her own misconduct. She promptly went back outside to walk the border of the stone fence, but she never came back with a bouquet again.

Soon, snow began to fall and it covered the pasture and blanketed all the flowers, and as a result, Chrome chose to play inside by the hearth. The sons of the farmers also returned to the classroom in large flocks as the harvest season was over and nearly overwhelmed the poor schoolteacher. Luckily, she was a fiery woman and could handle any mob of children like the reins of a bucking bronco, however, she had no time to attend to the details of the quieter children, especially of the girls.

Boys would yell at Chrome for not playing, but they yelled at Haru and Kyoko just as much. The two girls played hopscotch and stuck their tongues out at any boy that messed up their game, but Chrome kept to herself. She watched all the games intently from the corner by the vegetable garden and shrunk whenever her name was called.

As the winter season enveloped the small town, Chrome's mother began chattering about a new party, a Christmas feast, that anyone who was anyone was invited to attend. It was a big event. There was to be a band and dancing and delicious food from the most famous farm in the district, the Vongola Farm. The pastor had invited the new family, excited that his son, Ryohei, was employed in its fields.

Chrome watched her mother's gears become more and more fixed upon the holiday extravaganza. She order new dresses, designed in the capitol, for herself and her daughter and she carefully selected presents for the neighbors. She often asked her husband what he thought of a basket of spices as a gift to the pastor, or if he had a nice silk shirt that matched her own ensemble. He was a very tolerant husband of his wife's attention to detail and he calmly smoked his cigar and agreed with her in all areas. He only put his foot down when she fervently stated cider would be a better beverage over the traditional whiskey he carried with him to such parties.

"My father did and so shall I. There is nothing wrong with sharing quality liquor!" he lectured and Chrome's mother let it drop, turning her attention to her daughter instead. Chrome sat on the cobbled stone in front of the fireplace, helping her mother by sewing a more fashionable brooch onto an old scarf.

"Chrome-chan, the country is such a hospitable place, isn't it? Much more friendly than the city. Everyone is more intimate in this dear town; city folk are so stifling. They just talk and talk and talk," and she waved her handkerchief around in exaggeration. "All I've ever wanted was a peaceful evening with close friends, it shall be a ball!"

Chrome passed her mother the scarf.

"Oh dear, you sewed it on upside-down!" Chrome jumped up and apologized and took back the work. She took out the pair of scissors and carefully snipped off her seams, then went back to work with her needle. Her mother continued.

"I picked out that brooch especially for you. It matches your eyes, that shade of violet. I knew as soon as I saw it that it would make your eyes just pop! You'll be better for it too, as the boys won't be able to take their eyes off you, pretty girl. They say luck is on the side of one working at the Vongola farm. Many have gone off to start their own businesses and all become very wealthy and happy. Secret business techniques are passed on from generation to generation, it's rumored."

"The boys don't care for girls quite yet," Chrome said bluntly.

"Oh dear as me. I adored boys when I was your age. You just have to make them fall in love with you, dear. Of course little boys are stubborn, but you are very beautiful."

"I don't think I was interested in girls at her age either, dear," Chrome's father agreed. "Why don't we just let her make up her own mind about going. She isn't one for parties and she hasn't had her debutant yet either. She'll be very bored, I'm sure."

But Chrome's mother wouldn't hear of it. The dress was already picked out and laid in the girl's room. People were expecting her. Most importantly, Kyoko and Haru would be there with their parents and Chromes mother couldn't her on her daughter missing out on the social life in this town of such fine pickings.

* * *

Chrome dressed by herself Christmas morning. But when she left her room, she once again was confronted with the rope ladder dangling in front of her nose. She smiled and scrambled into the attic. The mirror sat in its dusty corner and she pulled the grey cloth off with a sweep of her small arm. The afternoon sun streamed through the mansard windows and she could see the frame's intricate details even more clearly and it was truly spectacular. Numerous fairies were huddled in flowers, not just one or two, and the danced and rolled in the air, some even tinier riding on the hidden bugs.

Mukuro appeared and looked at her with proud, calm eyes.

"It's been a while. That is a very pretty dress. Is there a party today?"

"It's Christmas!" Chrome exclaimed. "Yes, there's a party and I must attend it."

"Christmas now? I don't celebrate that holiday." Mukuro laughed. "But I'll make a deal with you. Spend Christmas with me and I promise you that you won't be missed at the party. I understand I caused some trouble for you after your last visit and I must apologize. It was wholly selfish of me." Mukuro was very charming and Chrome didn't see anything wrong with his explanation. She imagined living in a mirror to be very lonely and he looked so like her that it attracted her own curiosity quite intensely.

"It's okay. If you want me to stay, I will. Where did you go when you disappeared from the mirror?" Chrome's voice was louder and stronger, though not by much. "Is there a world behind the glass? Are you in a magic mirror?"

"Kufufu. Magic mirror you say? Anything can be magic besides a mirror. A book, a radio, even a piano," he nodded toward the other antiques littering the room. "But yes, I am trapped in this mirror, which now makes it magic. It suits me, I guess."

"But then, how were you trapped, exactly?"

"How is a magic mirror made?" Mukuro clarified. Chrome nodded and sat down. Mukuro's face lowered to her height. He was very fond of open ears.

"Well, first it was just normal mirror, as you would call it. This one in particular still had all its frivolous detail about the frame, very gaudy and dainty," he laughed, "and I'm not surprised by the signature of the maker you found. You see, it's his little inside joke that I belong in a mirror because I meddle with illusions."

"Illusions?"

"Yes, like poof, I have a rabbit," and a little bunny, squirming as if held by the ears, appeared above Mukuro's face, and then leapt toward Chrome arms. The girl quickly held out her hands but she only caught wisps of smoke as that might escape an extinguished candle.

"Do you believe in my magic?"

"Yes! That was amazing!" Then Chrome lowered her voice. "You are very talented," she said recalling the hour and careful of her noise. Of course, she always believed in magic. Wouldn't any little girl be fond of the idea of fairy god mothers and pixie dust?

"I'm glad you think so. But so it goes, I have a rival who also meddles in magic," and Mukuro's changed into one ugly with disapproval. Chrome stopped smiling and she drew her knees up to her chest. "He had a woman who loved me slip into my drink what she thought was a love potion. Instead she trapped me in this very mirror that was crafted by my rival. My rival had a thing for her, you see," Chrome nodded. "She was a very silly woman, not to my taste. Still, she was very smart and I employed her to the jealousy of Spade, who envied my magic on top. After I was tricked into gazing upon this mirror, I became imprisoned and all together, I have been very lonely ever since. I have spent so much time sleeping. Sometimes I dream, and I weave illusions into my visions to help me escape, but it isn't the same."

"Oh! But now, it is my turn to ask questions! I must wonder why you do not detest me on sight. Others have looked upon my face and I hear them scream in horror. It is all very bewildering, but apparently, I am now extremely ugly because of my rival's cunning. I must ask, did he give me horns like some devil?" Mukuro laughed.

"No, you have no horns and I don't find you ugly. You just look like me."

"No sharp teeth or fangs? No red eyes?"

"Your teeth are normal and both your eyes are blue to me."

"Hmm. He shall have his day, perhaps," Mukuro mused.

"How old are you though? You look my age."

"Now that is a surprise! Oh-ho! Your age you say?" The little boy's face rose high and pompous, smirking and then laughing. "Your eyes are extraordinary. Maybe they see what they want to see, I don't know, but you do indeed look like my younger self. Please, keep thinking I am your age, for I am probably ageless by now. I have been trapped long in these silver waters."

"Can you tell me another story?"

"I know many stories."

* * *

Chrome's father had somehow persuaded her mother against hunting their daughter out and dragging her to the Vongola Christmas party. She obviously didn't want to come and he imagined her to hide in some dark niche of the house, maybe in some secret passageway. The house was old and she was, after all, a small girl who could fit into tight places. Chrome's father just wanted a good time, with or without the small girl and her mother reluctantly followed him out to the party. Chrome returned from the attic just in time for breakfast. She found cook in the kitchen talking to a woman with shoulder-length black hair.

"Chrome-chan! How are you this morning? I heard you skipped another party. How awful, to be in hiding all day! Let me introduce you to my sister-in-law, Lal Mirch." Lal Mirch looked sternly at Chrome.

"She's too skinny, Nana. Cook some chicken to fatten her up. We can spread the lard on some toast."

"But the doctors say that's unhealthy."

"What are you talking about? It'll strengthen her!"

Chrome couldn't imagine this to be the woman from the fairytale. She expected a woman soft and quiet like herself, and it was hard to ask her about the cook's story without seeming to interrupt. Lal Mirch ranted on about the cook's brother.

"A girl must be strong to face the world!" Lal Mirch growled. She calmed as Nana agreed, speaking with a more business-like tone about how the cook should prepare Chrome for the real world, since her parents were 'useless.' Chrome sat down on a stool and watched the women chop from a distance. She liked being around the two, but not in their midst.

I told Chrome-chan here your story of the mirror and mists. It left her unsatisfied," Nana said, "and me too now that I think about it. Why did you cut off your hair? Why get rid of the mirror? I'm sorry but I was only half listening when you told me the first time," the cook reminisced. Her sister-in-law grumbled, and then she rubbed her eyes.

"These onions are terrible! All right, when the mists rolled down from the hills, slithered through the village streets, and crept into my room, I had the dreadful feeling the boy I loved was hurt. I didn't like feeling so dreadful, so I had to check up on him. He lived close by. I ran to the door but I couldn't open it for some reason, I figured it stuck, so I ran to the window, but that was stuck also. My Colonello! He's tough as a bear, but he's ten times as stupid! And that blasted mirror, I could see it clearly in my room despite the mist. Like the eye of some storm, the mist practically revolved around it, and that's when my intuition said to me loud and clear: 'Cursed!'"

"So I narrowed my eyes at that mirror and I walked up to it slowly." Lal Mirch's voice deepened and she slowed at her task of washing the dishes. The rag made small cicles on the wet porcelain. "I didn't know what I was going to see or what might jump out at me, but the mist was crawling on my skin. I shut my eyes and grabbed the mirror at the top and pulled it down so it lay, reflect the floor. I remember, immediately, the air dried, but became very cold simultaneously, so cold I could see my breath make its own mist. Right then," and Lal Mirch banged her fist, turning animatedly to the cook, eyes shifting to Chrome, "I knew I had to change my reflection so it couldn't find me and threaten me again. I got out the sewing scissors and I cut off my hair. There was just something about the mirror—the way I looked in it—that highlighted my hair. And all I can remember is the danger, and, listen girls, if you ever see a mirror like that, stay away from it. That mirror unsafe. I never saw it destroyed! And I would also love to know who gave it to me!" She was now violently chopping vegetables by the cook's side.

"So dramatic!" Nana laughed.

* * *

Chrome sat on the front steps of the house, watching the winter snow melt and trickle into the cobble's cracks. Ants were busy building mounds of their small dusty stones and she scraped a stick glumly nudging them this way and that. Cook was in the kitchen. Her mother was in the parlor. Her father was away. The attic was shut up again.

A boy holding the reins of a Shetland pony, not riding it but leading it behind him stopped at the farthest end of her drive-way, which caught Chrome's bored eye. He had dark hair and wore a riding uniform. Through her drive-way's tunnel of trees, Chrome saw him and got up. They faced each other like two distant animals unwilling to draw closer or farther away. The girl's house and the boy's pony anchored them where they stood. Then, he moved on suddenly remembering his errand. She watched the boy's head bob over the stone fence of the property's border until the trees swallowed him out of vision.

Feeling she must depart too, Chrome rushed back into her house, her face scrunching with her blush and the sudden sensation of her loneliness. Up she went until she came to the attic, and she gazed up at it as one might look up at the unreachable stars, her face still hot and red. She ran to her room, mustering the sitting stool by her nightstand, and then, she piled a stack of books on top. Earnestly, she climbed her wobbling tower, her grubby fingers reaching up and pushing open the attic's hatch, and up she climbed and pulled herself in. She rushed to the mirror and removed the sheet with the same acceptance of a magician's audience the bizarre to be normal.

"Chrome-chan! What is the matter?" Mukuro said. She put a hand to her tomato face and bit her lip.

"I—I don't want you in the attic," she uttered.

"You can't move me Chrome. I'm too heavy."

"I know," she said. "I know." The blush began to disappear, replaced by her pale complexion. She would always be so far away from Mukuro, just the same as when she looked upon that boy at the length of her driveway. She touched the mirror. Mukuro looked down at her hand solemnly, then at the little girl before him. He said nothing.

* * *

Now that she had figured away to get into the attic at night, Chrome went to Mukuro every night. She would sneak in, climbing her footstep piled with books careful and slow. Then, she would return to her bed and sleep the remaining hours till dawn, and awaken refreshed as ever. Her clothes would be laid out by cook. He would pull her arms into her sweater, peering out into the hallway, her eyes tilted up.

At school, her reputation as the new girl eventually diminished. Kyoko and Haru left her alone when she sat beside herself at recess, even though if they had her, they could finally play jump-rope with the long rope. Cook kept a careful eye on her at home, but she never showed any signs of unhappiness or loneliness. Her mother didn't understand her daughter's ways and her father shrugged it off.

And so, every night, she escaped into the attic. Mukuro told her stories and he filled up the room with dazzling illusions to explain what words could not. Dragons and knights. Despotic kings. Evil sorcerers. Jungles and deserts, the hero without food, water, or his stolen treasure. The boy in the mirror was an excellent story-teller. Chrome listened and watched the ghostly sheets melt in new worlds built by his alchemy and magic.

All this time, her mother's belly grew larger and rounder. Doctors came to the house, and Chrome would see them putting their stethoscopes to her belly when she returned from school. Summer came and her mother was yet due. The size of her mother's stomach worried Chrome, and she talked about her concern with Mukuro. The boy in the mirror assured her that if her mother gave birth in this house, all would be safe. The delivery would be healthy. He said, "I have my ways."

But Chrome's mother was determined to have a modern surgery back in the city. For once Chrome protested. At dinner, horror-stricken, her fork dropping into her peas, Chrome asked "why?"

"Haha! Have my child under the expertise of a mid-wife? You were painful enough, my darling. I trust our doctor in the capitol. He has gone through his training."

* * *

The cook helped Chrome pack clothes and soaps for the hotel in the city, and she said good-bye to the attic mirror that night.

"I'll be gone, cook says, for about a week."

"You spoil me, coming every night. Take some time away, but do not forget to return Chrome."

Chrome touched her hand to the mirror and smiled looking down.

"Is it cold inside in the mirror?" Maybe that was why the sheet was always over it when she returned. "I can get you a blanket." But Mukuro didn't look cold. He chuckled.

"It is hard to explain what this mirror is like. I'll show you when you return if you do not forget about me up here."

Chrome blushed. "I-I won't," she said, and left him, as she always did, the mirror's sheet pulled off, lying on the floor in a heap.

* * *

Shrieks beat Chrome like a sinking steel vessel in a storm, her brittle metal cracking in the salt. She sat with her knees pulled up to her mouth in a chair in the waiting room. Doctors and nurses rushed by her, carrying metal trays in one hand. Her father and Cook were with her mother and had left her behind here. Chrome's eyes were closed tightly. What was happening? Two doctors and a nurse talked in hurried technical terms outside the room. A nurse put her hand a doctor's sleeve. "The little girl?" she said and all three stared at Chrome.

"Move her."

* * *

Chrome's father found her by the hospital entrance. He sat down beside her and stroked his mustache. He looked at the girl hold herself and she looked back at him with wet eyes. She could not sit up straight. He put a heavy hand on her head and kissed the top..

Chrome was led into the room, her father keeping a hand on her back. Cook sat on a chair beside her mother, sobbing, but smiling at the bundle she held. Chrome ran to her mother. She was propped up on pillows and a sheet had been pulled over her face. Chromes fingers scrambled under the covers and found her hand. It was warm and she squeezed it with her two hands.

* * *

Her father hushed her brother in the doorway, bouncing the babe in his arms. Chrome stood at the foot of the stairs and looked up. The house was dark and smelled now of her family's inhabitance—her mother's perfume and her father's tobacco. She wanted to go to bed. Her father called her name and she looked at him.

His soft eyes told her to come and she approached.

"Hold your brother while I help Cook unpack, my girl," he said and he eased the bundle into Chrome's small arms. She looked down and saw a round face with big eyes like hers. He opened and closed his hand, and then, he went to sleep. She sat down on the floor, and looked at her brother. She rubbed a tear off of his warm, cheek, softer than the any of the flower petals in the meadow.

* * *

Chrome busied herself helping Cook with her brother, feeding him and washing him. The memory of her mother surrounded her in the furniture and her dresses. She found her way into Cook's bedroom instead of the attic upstairs.

Kyoko visited with a basket of bread, honey and flowers. Chrome took it and said thank you, and then Kyoko hugged her. Chrome let go of the basket and hugged the girl back, though she had no more tears left to cry. They laughed together afterwards and Cook made the two girls tea, flavoring it with the honey Kyoko had brought. Chrome showed her the little babe in his cradle, and they talked of ways to dress him up. All day, they played House with her little brother. Both of them played the mothers.

The fields outside her house became over-ridden with clover, attracting deer and rabbits. Then buttercups and jumping jacks came up, consuming a patch by the stone fence in its colorful speckles. Chrome no longer went out into the fields. She came home from school to give her brother early in reading. She was a quiet and patient teacher and she told him wonderful stories that even put Cook to shame.

Time makes it easier for Chrome to put her loss aside, and she forget about the enchanted mirror above her room alongside the absence of her mother. Chrome grows older, and soon, she fits into her mother's dresses. She becomes a tall lean girl, beautiful to behold with her pretty eyes and silken hair. She even caught the admiration of Hibari Kyoya, who now pulled a grown mare by her farm instead of his cute Shetland pony.

Years pass by. She finishes her primary education under Bianchi. Her debutant date is set for next August. Her brother has grown into a helpful and polite child, proud and talkative of his sister. Her father purchases new furniture to prepare for his daughter's growing-up celebration. Cook asks Chrome to go into the attic and find some white dust sheets to put over her mother's old furniture.

When Chrome thinks of Mukuro, she recalls smudged dreams like a sidewalk painting lost to the rain, chalky colors mixed and blurred. He is not real in her mind and the distance between her childhood and teenage years is canyon wide. She has grown into a new person. Obediently, she finds the hatch and pulls the stool from her bedroom to stand on. She pulls herself up into the attic, and, low and behold, her big seventeen year old eyes meet the tall mirror looming like a ghost under its sheet. She has found him, discovered him, again. Her hand comes to her mouth, uncertainty to her breast and the déjà-vu of her dreams is suddenly a reality. She stumbles over to it, banging her knee on a table's sharp corner and nearly tripping over a rope.

With a great elegant sweep, she pulls the sheet from the mirror. Dust floats into the air and the face of the mirror shows nothing but her reflection on its glassy surface.

Then she sees the misty vision skimming the edges of her jaw, like the waves of an ocean if it were made of clouds. His face overlaps hers, the face of a little boy. His eyes are closed. Chrome grabs the frame with both her hands and whispers his name with a cracking voice. When his eyes drowsily open, his image matures to match her own age. He is handsome with blue hair and sharp, tired eyes unlike hers. Chains of black mist surround him like cobwebs. Mukuro's mouth moves.

"You have returned. What are we to do?" he says and she puts her palm on his cheek, her chest heaving. A cracked sob escapes her lips. Her knees are weak and she crumbles to put her forehead on the cool glass. Memories come back to her sharply, as if the painting of her past filled in with fresh pigment. "Years ago, you asked me how I looked inside this mirror."

"Sorry… I'm sorry… Mukuro," she cries.

"You were but a child," he smiles. The black chains begin to disappear.

"No, keep them out!" Chrome says. But then, she sees his apparition is fading as well.

"I must go Chrome. I am not needed and I am very weak."

"Please stay! I will come—every day!" Chrome cries. Her face is red with tears, but with the last of his strength, Mukuro shakes his head.

"I should not have waited so long," he says. "I have a long journey ahead. Do not forget me and we will meet again." His ghostly image vanishes into frothing mist. Chrome cannot even see her reflection through the mirror's milkiness. She wipes her eyes with her wrists. She finally looks at the frame with nostalgia. Through her tears, she does not see the fairies basking on the flowers or the bugs flitting around for pollen. She does not see the little secrets dancing to the delight of her eyes, her vision blurred with her regret.

* * *

In ten more years, Chrome became a delicate woman. She owned an antique shop by the Town Common. She received training in business from the head of Vongola farm because he considered her a bright and caring girl. With the help of her father's loan, she purchased the antique business before it went under, and she fixed it up into a successful and stable operation. First to sell was the great tall mirror in the attic, and the treasure took her immediately into a profit margin.

A lovely spring afternoon winked at Chrome outside her shop's window. Ken and Chikusa, her two assistants, manned the register and watched that no ignorant patron harmed their wares. Chrome sat in her office, keeping tabs on the business, several, large, leather-bound record books on her desk.

Chikusa opened the door part-way and asked, "Excuse me, this is troublesome, but I'm trying to identify the signature-of-make on this mirror."

"Oh, I can help with that," Chrome said sweetly. She closed her books. Chikusa came in, his gaunt frame dressed in a professional suit and jacket. He handed her a circular hand-mirror. Flowers decorated its frame and the wood felt smooth in Chromes hands.

"The signature-of-make is on the back," Chikusa said obligingly, and Chrome flipped it over. "The man who sold it looked like an aristocrat, but I think we've been had," he sighed. Engraved on the wooden back, where the mirror attached to the wooden frame, was the image of a lotus blossom. Its vine-like tendrils enclosed a spade.


End file.
